The idea for this came from hikertrash16's picture of Jean giving Lucien a rather longing look, in S1E4. I've moved it to sometime after series 4, and improved the nightwear. I hope she still likes it!

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He closed his eyes in relief for a moment. It had been a long day and a difficult case, and there were too many loose ends still for his liking, but he was home now, and home meant Jean. There was an easy comfort now in coming home to her that he had thought he would never feel again.

Though, now he thought about it, he wasn't quite sure where she was. She had served him his reheated dinner, but hadn't stayed while he ate it. A quick kiss on his cheek and she had left him in the kitchen, and now he was in danger of falling asleep on the couch.

Lucien ran his hand over his face and into his hair, making it stand up on end. He pulled off his tie and loosened his collar. He really wanted a glass of whisky.

He may have dozed then for a moment, because he was suddenly aware that Jean was back in the room. Through half opened eyelids he watched her approach, a glass of whisky in one hand and a glass of sherry in the other. She was wearing a new dressing gown. He was sure it had to be new; he had hoped for longer than he would care to admit that she would get rid of the old pink fuzzy one.

She was wearing a long pale blue silky robe that flowed as she moved towards him, and his eyes widened, flitting between the way her hips swayed as she walked, the glass of whisky, and Jean's face, which showed a tentative smile.

Her hair was loose, and the tendrils round her face were damp and curling in a strangely appealing way. How had he spent so long not even noticing her? Just seeing his housekeeper, not his Jean?

He smiled back. "I wondered where you had disappeared to," he said.

"Bath," she replied, and for a moment he fought off the image in his mind of her in the bath, and failed. She chuckled at the look on his face, and sat in the armchair across from him. They each took a mouthful of their drink and swallowed. He noticed her feet were bare, and he couldn't ever remember seeing Jean's toes before. This evening was taking a surprising turn.

"So, the case? Is it finished?" she asked, setting her drink down on the table.

Lucien started to tell her about it, as he swirled the whisky around in his glass. He glanced up and broke off halfway through a sentence.

Jean was giving him the strangest look; she was leaning forward and looking at him in fascination. This was not something he was used to. They loved each other, of course they did, and his mother's ring on her finger was evidence enough of that. But that look on her face?

Lucien would readily enough admit to himself that he was besotted with Jean, but she was always the practical, straightforward one. Yet now she was hanging on his every word and her expression left him in no doubt as to what she was thinking.

She stood up slowly and shimmied around the table towards him. Taking his glass away and putting it next to hers, she slid smoothly onto his lap and put her arm around the back of his neck.

Lucien closed his mouth, which he realised had been hanging open as he watched her, and swallowed hard.

"This is new," he said, with a slight questioning tone in his voice.

Jean wasn't sure if he meant sitting on his lap, or the dressing gown, which he was absentmindedly fingering as it covered her legs. Both were new, as were her intentions.

"Do you like it?" she asked quietly, and there it was again, that look.

"Very much," he replied, "but why...?" His question faded away as she kissed his beard, on the side of his cheek, and as she started to undo his shirt buttons with her free hand.

His hands were fully occupied with the silky feel of soft curves covered by that robe. And now it occurred to him that the robe was all there was; no pyjamas. His mind was racing now. Did she know what she was doing to him? Of course she did - she was no naive girl.

When she reached the third button he covered her hand with his and stopped her. He kissed her fingertips delicately and looked at her seriously.

"I thought..." They might be engaged, but she had never approached him like this, and he had never held her this close.

"Don't think," she replied. "Just...be."

And with that, he let his head fall back slightly against the couch. Jean kissed the skin of his neck and under his jaw, where the edge of his beard tickled her lips and cheek. Her fingers had returned to his chest, sliding under the open edge of his shirt, first seeking out the sparse hair on his chest, then lying flat against his side.

Lucien had one hand on her hip, holding her on his lap, but spreading his fingers out too, exploring. With his other hand he hitched the robe up to her knees and slid his hand underneath. He half expected her to stop him, but her breath hitched and she made the quietest sound in his ear. She moved her legs a little to make room for his fingertips.

They paused for a moment, and Lucien could feel the damp ends of her hair against his neck. Fresh from the bath, she smelled marvellous to him, sweet and scented and very much her. He realised he probably smelled less sweet, after hours of work and still in his work shirt. But Jean didn't seem to mind, and she was nuzzling his neck again.

He lifted her chin then and kissed her properly, his lips silently asking all the questions that were flying around in his head. Was this what she wanted? Had she got tired of waiting till they were married? Was she sure?

He broke away from her and stroked his hand down her cheek. He felt her muscles tighten against his lap.

"Jean? Are you sure?" He had to ask.

"Mmm," she hummed softly. "Very sure."